Chapter Twenty-Eight
Juliet
The story Hadrian tells is much, much weirder than any explanation I’d have been able to come up with on my own. Insane doesn’t begin to cover it. Not even a little bit.
At first, I listen in silence. I’ve never been good at that—I’m much more likely to leap in and pepper whatever poor soul is trying to speak with fifty thousand questions—but I don’t want to stop the flow of information. Even though the more Hadrian talks, the less plausible it all seems.
He’s part of a cult.
He doesn’t call it that, but I doubt anyone in a cult thinks that’s what they’re in.
That part kind of makes sense. I suppose.
Cults and captive women do go hand in hand.
But there’s no religion involved, no Great Leader in red robes doing human sacrifices.
If Hadrian is to be believed, it’s a cult of scientists.
The captive women are just an added bonus.
I’d ask him just what in the actual fuck he’s talking about, but my tongue is frozen to the roof of my mouth as his words fill my head. Scientists. A bunch of geeks working to the betterment of mankind, with enslaved women at their sides. No. No way. He’s lost his mind, and this is all a delusion.
Except…
This cell must have cost an insane amount of money.
Hadrian’s family are nowhere near as rich as they try to act.
He could be making good money working for some tech firm, but enough to pay for all this?
It’s hard to imagine the cost of it all.
Millions, surely. Unless Hadrian had a lotto win, other people must be involved in this somewhere.
“I know it sounds insane,” he finishes.
We sit in silence, and I stare down at my knees as my poor, battered brain tries to process another lurch toward the bizarre. Had Hadrian lost his mind? Did it snap after I turned him in? It’s a horrible thought, and I shy away from it. No. It can’t be that.
Finally, I look up at Hadrian. His face is solemn, no hint that this is all some elaborate joke. Not that Hadrian was ever the type to joke at someone else's expense.
He wasn’t the type to hold women captive, either.
Good point.
I clear my throat. “May I ask questions now, Master?”
He nods. “You may.”
Somehow, I don’t think are you fucking serious will go down well, so I search for something more productive. Ever since he revealed himself, all I’ve wanted to do is question him, and now I can’t think of a single goddamn thing to say.
He doesn’t rush me, watching calmly as I try to organize my thoughts. There are a million questions I ought to ask—sensible questions that might help me work out what the hell is really going on—but instead, I blurt out, “Why me?”
It’s a stupid question. I betrayed him, and he lost everything. Of course he wants to punish me. I should have asked something else, because what does it matter, really? But I hold my breath as I wait for the answer.
Hadrian glances away, and a flicker of sadness makes its way through his stern expression. He takes a long time collecting his thoughts before he says, “I only ever wanted you, doll. I’ve never cared about anyone else. And when I discovered how you need to be treated and the risks you were taking…”
He bends, running a finger over my cigarette burns. The old shame rears up, scorching hot. He thinks he’s rescuing me? Saving me from myself?
Isn’t he?
What happened with Trent taught me a lesson, for a while, but hadn’t I almost taken just as stupid a risk? When my obsession was in the driving seat, everything else went out of the window.
Trent.
Shit.
What had Saldar said about Trent? The memory of those early days, when I was still in shock, is blurry. My mouth seems to be working again, as I ask, “Trent. The guy who…” I gesture at the burns. “Did you…”
Hadrian’s face hardens. “I took care of him.”
My mouth drops open, and I jerk back with a gasp. “You…you killed him?”
Hadrian’s eyes widen, and his hands fly up, as if he’s fending off the suggestion.
“What? No! I found some really questionable stuff on his hard drive. You weren’t the first woman he hurt.
I tipped off the police, and he’s looking at ten years minimum.
I’m sure he’ll get what he deserves in prison. ”
My hands shake, and I clasp them together.
Fuck. My heart hammers, taking a while to adjust to what Hadrian just said.
As my adrenaline sputters out, I fight an insane urge to burst out laughing at Hadrian’s still appalled expression.
It’s so normal. So him. He’s shocked I thought he’d turned into a killer. He still draws a line somewhere.
It’s hard to explain what a relief it is.
For that one second, I thought he’d become someone truly unrecognizable. Because taking me captive isn’t enough to fit that description, apparently.
Hadrian stares down at me, and his face changes as I watch, settling back into his cold, master persona. “Any other questions, doll? Or shall we get started with the tour of the Compound.”
The what? My heart had just started to settle, but now it rips to life again, slamming into my ribs. A tour. Does that mean…
“You’re taking me out of the cell?”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to dash my hopes. He’ll laugh and say “Of course not. You’re in here for life.” I just know it.
Instead, he gives a single nod. “It’s a privilege. I know you won’t understand the Brotherhood until you see it for yourself. We’ll return here afterward. If you behave well, there will be more opportunities to go outside.”
Outside.
It’s a golden carrot, and I race toward it.
I get to leave this room. Breathe outside air. Get a sense of where the hell I actually am and what is really going on. It’s like he’s handed me a gift, and I grab it with everything I have. “I will. I promise.”
“No other questions?”
Only a million. But they all crumble into dust at the prospect of leaving the cell. “No. Let’s go. Please.”
He smiles. It’s only there for a second, but it’s enough to make my heart twist. It’s Hadrian’s smile, his real one, not the savage one I’ve seen a lot of recently.
“If you insist.”
Hadrian walks to the replenishing chest, and I know before he opens it what will happen. He’ll have an outfit in there. It’s how he often chooses to bring in new things. I stay frozen, sure that if I move a single muscle, he’ll change his mind.
I watch him closely as he opens the chest. There’s tension in him that isn’t usually there.
His movements, usually calm and measured, feel a little rushed.
However much he’s hiding it, taking me out of prison is doing something to him, though I can’t be sure what.
Maybe he’s excited, but he could equally be anxious.
As if he’s the one that should be afraid. As I think it, my stomach clenches. I don’t believe everything Hadrian has told me about what he calls the Brotherhood, but cults aren’t exactly known for being safe spaces for captured women.
What if there are other men out there?
No. Focus on the positives. Sunlight. Air. My cell has come to represent a fucked-up kind of safety, and that means I really need to get out of it. Much longer, and I’ll be like a bird that stays put even though the cage is open.
What is he going to dress me in? Latex? Just a collar and leash? My skin tingles at the thought, and it’s almost an anticlimax when he pulls out a plain white shift dress. It’s short, but nothing I wouldn’t wear on a normal day back in the real world.
I swear he’s fighting a smirk when he sees my face. He holds the dress up for my inspection. “Expecting something more revealing? You’re my slave, doll. No one else gets to look at your body. Now get dressed.”
He hands it over, and I freeze at the unfamiliar feel of the garment in my hands.
I’ve been naked for…I still haven’t worked it out.
A long time. Dressing feels more awkward than being naked, and once I’ve pulled the dress over my head and smoothed it down, the cotton presses on my skin in an annoying way.
Did I really used to wear clothes every single day?
How restrictive. He hasn’t given me a bra, and thank God, because I don’t think I could cope with one of those right now.
My nipples show through the thin fabric—obviously he’s not that protective of my modesty—and he hasn’t given me panties, either.
Going commando is stranger than just being naked.
Okay. I’m dressed. This is it. Hadrian looks me up and down, then launches into what sounds like a prepared speech.
“Rules of the Compound. You address me as Master, of course, but all the other Brothers you meet, you address as sir. All the women you meet are Wards. No other women are allowed in the Compound. Don’t bring up the subject of captivity with them unless they broach it with you first. It’s considered rude. ”
Rude? That makes literally no sense, but I don’t let myself pounce on it. I’m going outside. Focus on that.
But then his words click into place. Only Wards are allowed in the Compound? The mystery woman who spoke to me said she wasn’t a captive. Maybe she’s so brainwashed by the cult she thinks she’s here voluntarily. Still, though. It’s weird.
But it’s also a puzzle for another day. I keep my voice extra polite. “I understand.”
“You might see some interesting sights. Try not to stare.”
Like what? Public executions? Orgies? What constitutes “interesting” to the new Hadrian? I have no idea.
It hits me all at once how little I really know Hadrian now. Is he still fussy about which brand of toothpaste he uses? Does he still sing in the shower when he thinks he’s alone in the house? I recorded him belting out Green Day once and used to threaten to set it as my ringtone.
It’s hard to imagine this new Hadrian doing anything fun. Doing anything, really, besides ordering me about. I always knew Saldar was a construct, but do I really know Hadrian any better? I want to believe the old him is still there somewhere.